


Woman Out of Time

by Cryodamn3d



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout 4
Genre: Alcohol, Ass-Kicking, Classic men, Community: falloutkinkmeme, Detective Noir, Developing Friendships, Dominance, Drug Use, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Falling In Love, Feels, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Kellog is a jackass, Murder, Mystery, Nick is sassy, Pain, Robot Sex, Robot/Human Relationships, Sarcasm, Slow Burn, Slow Dancing, Slow To Update, Smoking, Violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-03
Updated: 2019-05-20
Packaged: 2019-10-21 19:29:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,647
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17648555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cryodamn3d/pseuds/Cryodamn3d
Summary: Nick Valentine x reader2077 - the year the world went to Hell; you managed to survive the nuclear bombs, unlike most unlucky souls. But, you soon realize everything comes with a cost, even at the expense of your family's life. Nothing in life is easy - never has been and never will be - the Commonwealth proved that. So when you found someone that would help you find your son without hesitation, you were bewildered and grateful. You're glad you trusted the clever and witty detective Nick Valentine from the start.





	1. To Hell

**Author's Note:**

> This book is originally from my wattpad account: @fuckingmenacing. Hope you enjoy!

**Chapter 1**  
**To Hell**

\---------

The world was a dark place, and still is - not even two hundred years could change that, if so it made it worse - the spread of corruption was greater and humanity lost it's back bones. But there's always a light in the darkness, you just have to look in the far edges where most don't venture, where the path runs dry.

There you would find hope. Faith for a better future. It was all just a bunch of mumbo jumbo for me. But through times like these, a little ray of sunshine wouldn't hurt.

And I'm not metaphorically speaking either.

Large droplets of water pounded on the window seal, releasing comforting toon that would put anyone into a deep slumber, a sweet beckoning serenade. The clouds were just as calming, dispensing melancholy waves into the atmosphere, streaks of pure white crackled against a stormy blanket of grey, shrouding hot silver clouds with its blinding incandescence, emanating the might of an imminent tempest, dampening the Earth toward a deeper state of despondency.

I settled near a window of my debilitated old house since before the bombs fell and before the world went spiraling down into oblivion known has today. It barely held its self up on its own crutches, little more than weakened and decayed from the two decades of nuclear fallout. My legs were prompt on the window seal, which was more out of habit than as much as I'd admit, with a stale cigarette between my pink, firm lips.

I watched discouragingly as the heavy downpour mixed with the contaminated soil, creating mud, leaving the fragmented paved road slick with its water were cars used to drive, puddles formed in the spots where there weren't any concrete to behold. The mud were pitted and without a single print - just the same as it is after a snowfall but deep brown. The sight was colorless, dreary - it was a new yet a primitive experience to partake in, to watch the rainfall, but it felt different - it was different.

Life was amazingly contradistinctive back then, I once lived in a friendly neighborhood, with a loving husband, and my newborn son. It's unbelievable how life can change so fast, how rapidly it can turn from living the American dream to living in the squalor. Where every day is a constant battle for survival, hoping to live to see another day.

Inhaling, the scent of mildew filled my lungs in a sickening way, causing me to cough up the cancerous smoke from my lungs.

It isn't every day you get to just sit around 210 years into the post-apocalypse - preserved cryogenically in an experimental vault, along with more than fifty others stored in cryo-pods, which are long since dead - and I was going to relish my luck. Even though I had no plan of seeing the future, a bitter future give it or take.

Two days had passed since I graciously left vault 111, it's a horrible nightmare itself, the definition of grave. Graves of many unfortunate souls plagued within the steel walls of the vault, with mutated cockroaches the size of a small dog, attracted by the once flesh covered corpse of the vault staff. Just thinking about it sends shivers up my spine and causes the hair on my arms to stand in fear of the unknown.

Memories don't simply fade, they lock themselves in the crevices of out brain, unable to forget, unable to comprehend the longer they simmer in our thoughts. I remember the touchdown of the atom bomb like a vivid nightmare, which in most cases, was a horrifying event that anyone would be lucky to forget. I would consider myself lucky if it magically evaporated from my memory, that would be too good to be true however.

They won't leave, I just know of it. Who can forget something so terrifying, so... Unforgettable?

The storm hadn't let up, it hasn't for the two days I've been out here. Almost like the corrupted mother nature knew of my mourning and wanted to take matters into her own hands and make everything a little more gloomy than it already was. I wouldn't say that I was glad about the halt in time, it allows me to sit down and rethink everything over, lets me get a sense of things, and most importantly, grants me time to process everything that just happened - two centuries ago, and just a couple of days earlier.

If it wasn't for the radiation that carried with the water I would be out and about, more than eager to find my baby boy and the killers of my husband. I would most likely be in a ditch somewhere, dead and rotting, because of a mother's temper when someone takes their child; that or a mutants lunch. Take your pick.

I sucked the smoke deep into my lungs remembering all the let downs in my past life, the stale tobacco leaving a foul taste at the back of my throat. Nonetheless, I still exhaled the excess smoke that filled my lungs, only grimacing has the smell caught up with me.

I stood up from the worn chair from which I settled in, its wood creaking in response to the sudden movement, and I left it in its place by the window in exchange for the entrance to my home, which had a knock vibrating from it notifying someone was here.

I turned the knob to the door, it not turning smoothly as I hoped, and revealed a beat up Codsworth in front of me. A sight to which I was a little startled by. I sent him out to Concord to retrieve some essential items earlier today, and I was awaiting his return.

His once smooth metal frame now was rusted and dented in many places, imprints from bullets were more present than before. He seemed troubled yet he collected himself when I hummed for him to continue his words. It surprises me how I can tell the emotions of him when he's just a robot, but I over think things; more harmful than beneficial.

"Miss (Y/N), I seem to have troubling news. I couldn't find the essentials you sent me to retrieve, I am terribly sorry, mum," he said, his mechanically obvious voice wheezing a few seconds after.

Rule number four; don't send Codsworth to retrieve food for you. I'll just have to go myself.

I stared at the cigarette between my fingers. It was almost short enough to burn me.

Sighing, I disappointingly shook my head and threw the cigarette to the ground and stomped it out, "Its ok Codsworth, what happened in Concord?"

Explaining, he continued on, "well, there seems to be company down in the city, and the people there only shot at me a few times..."

I examined his gun dips that marked his metal body, which tells me everything.

Alarmed, I flinched as a water droplet fell on the tip of my nose, thanks to the many holes in the roof. I annoyingly wiped my nose and glanced up at the ceiling, to have another droplet drop on my cheek. A frustrated gust of wind left my lungs, morphing into a deep sigh.

Letting a smirk grace my lips, "I'm starting to like these people already."

I knew I had to leave eventually, the storm seems to want to continue, but I have to go search for Shaun. It's been nagging at my bones, the feeling of vengeance settling there, but, I know how I can get; I won't stop until I find him and that's how it should be. I should already be out there, searching my ass off - but what have I been doing? Sitting around grieving when I could do something about it.

The radioactive rain doesn't scare me anymore, I know what I must do, even if I do grow an arm out of my stomach, or have a strange infection growing on my face. The thought of Shaun being safe and sound is more appealing than my own well being.

Before I could finish the little inspirational speech in my head, Codsworth finishes, "maybe you could search for young Shaun there, mum? Maybe they can help you."

"Good idea Codsworth, I have to go now."

Before he could protest, I stepped around him, heading in the way of downtown Concord. The 10mm pistol I found in the vault slapping against my thigh with every step I took. The thunder roared aloud, muffling Codsworth's attempt of persuading me to stay until the storm cleared.

"But mum! What about the storm? You can't go out in weather like this, you'll catch a cold! Or worse!" His voice held a worried tone in it, sounding a lot like a normal human voice; it felt reassuring, that someone else was out here with me - unless the radiation is going to my head.

Two days out in the Commonwealth and I'm already going bonkers, thanks, glorious blue mother moon. You really helped me out on this one.

"I don't care now, I need to find Shaun. Even if that means I'm going to get some weird sickness; wish me luck."

I could already feel the cold rainwater seep into my vault suit, a shiver escaped my lips as a strong wind gust blew past me in the direction of south; right where I'm ending.

Vault suits protect against synthetic chemicals and maybe some weather, but it is not stylish in my book. The only thing that's going to keep me warm is my own movement.

He barely auditable calls out, "Good luck, mum. You'll find young Shaun. I know you will."

I brushed the cold off, stiffing my shoulders and wrapped my arms around my midsection. I was already soaked to the bone by the time a reached the bridge to Sanctuary Hills, the bridge I remember dearly, to the neighborhood I held dearly.

The memories really do hurt, I find it best to keep them locked up, where they never can resurface, or I might just split a seam; I can feel it, the tears, they want to escape. The feeling is horrible, almost killing me in a mental way. Its tough acting strong, being the one to always hold up others when I'm actually the one crumbling within. That was how it was back then, and now out here in the waste of Massachusetts I used to know; the Massachusetts that was once my home.

I shouldn't be like this, mopping around relentlessly, I have to be strong. For Shaun, for Nate. They brought happiness into my life when no one else did. I need to be strong for them.

Sucking in the chilly air, a small smile pulled on my lips, I took a step on the tattered bridge; where hopefully I would find help, which, admittedly, I needed.  


 

 

 


	2. A Helping Hand

**Chapter** **2**  
**A Helping Hand**

\---------------------------

How should I begin?

_"Hey! I know you guys are really busy and all trying to survive, but I was litterally a human popsicle a few days ago and I would appreciate it if you helped me find who did this._

_Oh!_

_"And did I forget to mention my son was stolen and my husband was murdered? So sorry for leaving out the critical detail. Now, who's gonna help me out?"_

No. Too inappropriate.

_"Hey. Can someone point me to the nearest police station. I would like to report murder and kidnapping."_

That is if the government's still kicking in the post apocalypse. Which is unlikely, but who knows? For all I know I'd proably still have to pay taxes.

I'm going to be pissed if there's still taxes.

Back before the end of the world, I always wondered why someone named a gas station Red Rocket. It's an odd question that plagued my thoughts for years, when they first came out and began spreading in all corners of the United States. I always anticipated it was because of how the space-retro vibe was popular, with Jangles the moon monkey franchise, and Nuka Colas apparent love for "out of this world" drinks - or something like that. But I never could wrap my mind around it, it was pointless and a waste of time. However, every discovery and invention started with a stupid question or by accident, although it had nothing to do with my pointless hunger for my question to be answered.

But now I had a new question. Why was I alive? Why me of all people. And why would someone steal my son?

I eyed the has station as I neared. My stomach dropped has I drew closer, and frowned at the site where the once proud Red Rocket Truck Stop stood. It was an old, faded shell of it's former glory. The buildings beillant red paint job was now chipping and shabby - with copper rust blanketing every centimeter of the place - weeds and wild plants took over the property. And do not get me started on the abondanded cars that littered the lanes and parking areas.

Tragic.

But not has tragic as finding out the world's post apocalyptic menu only consisted of snack cakes and mystery meat.

I slowed my pace, not from the chill of my soaked state, but the fact that there was a dog up ahead. It sat right in front of the gas station, but stood when it heard me approaching. I took slow pasted steps towards it. It was a German Shepherd, a full breed. It surprised me how there are still full breeds to this day, or how all the animals haven't been mutated, or extinct. The dog came right up to me, with a bounce in his step and his tail wagging fast side to side, he had a gleam to him of friendliness; and in return I did the same, a small smile gracing my trembling lips. I caustically reached my hand down, meeting half-way with the pooch. He sniffed at my hand. Then he licked graciously. He barked happily after every slobber covered lick of affection he pistod upon me.

"Hey there, boy." I said, retracting my hand to pet his head and when he showed no signs of attacking, I proceeded. His fur felt soft yet grimy against my palm and fingers - as though he as not had a bath in so long, which probably is the case - but it filled me with happiness for a short burst of time, before I had to let go. "I guess you're stuck with me now aren't you?"

The dog barked in approval and licked my hand affectionately once more. I giggled a little, petting him again before scavenging the gas station of anything useful.

Inside wasn't much to see, just like the outer layer of the building, and everything ranging from the stained floors to the moldy ceiling was covered in thick layers of dust and grim. I picked up a pack of Grey Tortoise cigarettes off a dusty counter and stuffed it into my shoulder bag, taking a few necessary iccatials too. My foot caught on something and I quickly grabbed a hold of a shelve; looking down there was a box of fancy lad cakes, mocking me with its artificial flavors and empty calories, but I snatched it up, open the box and popped a lad cake into my mouth. The cake being sweet enough to burn the taste buds off my tongue. Four lad cakes later and I felt confident enough to finally get a move on.

A strong gust of wind blew my wet hair around, sending a chill down my spine. Numbness seeped into my bones, but I trudged on down the cracked pavement that was once a road that lead into Concord, a small town once homed to a few dozens of people. It was nothing more than a ghostly silhouette of its previous existence - ruins scattered here and there, with few boarded and still-standing houses and stores - it was devastating, though I would not voice it out loud.

Peering down at he pooch, "everything changed, even the smell of the air. How'd you make it this long, boy?"

No answer.

I knew he couldn't answer me, or understand me for that matter, but he looked up at me with those chocolate brown eyes of his in a understanding way, a hint of pity. I shook it off has me hallucinating and stopped in my tracks once the voices of others started to appear in eye shot range.

The dog growled, bared his teeth and ran around the corner - that must be where the people are. A sharp gasp left my lips and my heart skipped a beat. Out of fear for my new companions safety I ran to the same curb, peering over the corner of the building I was using as cover. I couldn't see him, but I could hear him in the distance, barking and growling up a storm. And then there were gunshots.

I quickly reached down into the hostler at my hips, wrapping my fingers around the chunky pistol grip. It felt strange in my hands. Alien like. I've only used it once, and just to kill mutated bugs. Hense, I didn't really know how to use the damn thing. But I was going to try.

I ran from my hiding place to hide behind a rusted truck. I watched has he tugged at one man's pant leg, the man struggled before falling, ending with having his exposed neck ripped to shreds by the dog. A bullet barely missed him by a few feet. I lifted my pistol at eye range.

Pop - a bullet exited out of the fire chamber, entering the target. Quickly falling to the ground in a heap.

It took four bullets until the woman who was shooting laid limp on the asphalt.

Another bullet whizzed pasted my head. A close call. If it was more time prepared I would be dead, brains spilled out on the pavement.

"Son of a bitch!"

I didn't have time to react to my own actions, it was like instinct. The need for survival kicking into overdrive. And everything became a blur. One after the other, bodies dropped. But it seemed I missed my target's more. I didn't bother counting how many there were, and I couldn't even if I wanted to.

Well, there goes the idea of talking it out.

"Hey, bitch! I'm going to break that little pretty face of yours!" a man yelled.

I clinched my teeth, snapping my head in the direction of the foul mouthed maron. His hands highly gripped a wooden baseball bat. Strong enough to splinter the wood if he tried. Glare met glare, both holding the stare of death. The only difference was I planned to win this match.

I staggered from behind the truck and barely dodged his crushing attack. I whipped my pistol in his direction. I pulled the trigger - only for nothing to happen.

Great. Out of ammo.

Suddenly the German Shepherd sprinted out of no-where in the nick of time and lunged at the man, taking him down and ripped into his neck with sharp canines. I guess that's his go-to attack. Nice.

"Thanks, buddy. Talk about perfect timing," I said and smirked down at the dead fool.

I snatched the bat off the ground and stuffed my empty pistol into it's holster. I knew I should have practiced while I was waiting for the rain to let up. Which proved to have been a useless idea, considering I went out anyways. Maybe then I wouldn't have wasted so much bullets on the ground than actual enemies.

The classic wooden bat is an inhabit weapon, it's range not being much, but it's accuracy and power can be proven efficient. Depending upon the person of course. I was no exception. Not to mention I only watched the sport, not participate in it. But hey, how hard could it be? If a non year old kid can hit a fast moving baseball, I can bash so ones head. Hopefully.

My heart was thumping against my chest and breathing became labored as my legs carried me to cover. The pitter patter of the rain drizzled its way heavier, soon pouring over Concord in a light thunder storm. I failed to push back damp hair that stuck to my face, and it didn't help the fact that I could barely make out my surroundings as I sprinted down the road. I was a hot mess, to say the least. By the time I made it to in front of the muesuam I was in dry of stamina.

_Thud. Thud. Thud._

Without delay, I jerked my head in the direction of the foot steps. A female garbed in wired armor charged at me. She clinched a wicked butcher's knife between white knucklesm. She raised it high in the air, aiming for my head, no doubt; I immediately deflected her attack with my weapon. Her knife stuck in it's wood. She attempted to wrench it free but I instantly pulled back my swatter, and in that same moment I swung. Hard. Hitting her square in the temple. She fell to the ground, knocked uncontous.

Recollecting myself, I swung my weapon over my shoulders, and scanned for the dog and any nearby threats. He was nowhere to be found. Until I heard him bark off in the distance.

"Time for a little pay back," someone yelled.

I turned in the direction of the voice, only to be met with a pipe rifle aiming at me. He was maybe fifty to hundred feet away. So using the bat was out of the question.

I don't know whether I should be offended. This was clearly an unfair match.

Without warning, a laser appeared out of nowhere. Earning a headshot. The noise echoed off the empty and barly quiet streets.

"Hey! Up here, on the balcony," a male voise yelled. I looked up towards the voice to see a black male standing on the balcony to the Museum, trying to get my attention. "I got a group of settlers inside. The raiders are almost through the door. Grab that laser musket and help us - please!"

I didn't think twice has I snatched up the laser musket and a few scattered carilges and kicking the front entrance to the museum open. The dog sprinted pass me and stood guard has I walked in, musket ready to shoot. A raider on the second story alarmed the rest of my presence - and in return - a bullet grazed my arm, stinging. I hissed at the sudden pain, but took cover in a hallway leading to exhibits. The dog took front cover while I stayed in the back, warning me with a piercing woof if someone was up ahead.

The next few rooms were a breeze. We killed every raider without has much as a scratch, thanks to the alert and attack system we used.

I peered from a hole in the wall and looked out at the second story walkway. Enemies were scattered everywhere, and it was only but a few minutes before they made their way into the room where the settlers were in. I need to save them - they could possibly help me find my son - and that's all I needed.

"Stay back, boy." I held my hand out to him, and grabbed a grenade from my pocket. I picked it from off of a raider the last room down. I tore the pin out by my teeth and threw it out in the walkway where most of the raiders were standing guard. I watched it roll from underneath their feet, passing by them without notice. And then in an instant, body parts went flying into the air. For a split second the building was filled with agonized screams, but soon died done to perfect, unsettling silence.

Soon I reached the door, blood covered and bruised, with a time record of twenty minutes.

My nuckles grazed the wood door three times. "Open up, it's me."

The door swung open after a second or two, slower then wanted thanks to the swollen wood scrapping against the floors. New faces filled my eye sight, and I stepped in, closing the door behind me after the dog ran in after me. He settled besides a febble old woman stationed on a couch in the middle of the room. I pressed against the door. Exhaustion settled in my muscles and I heaved short gasps of air.

That went smoother than intensipaded.

I ran a hand through my damp hair. "Uh, hey. Couldn't help but notice you guys needed a little help."

The man from before greeted me with a friendly smile. He was defiantly of African American orgin, with his hat covering his black curls. His attire was strange, a long coat, and the hat. The whole getup was questioning. But it wasn't by far the weirdest of what I've seen so far. He has nothing on those raiders laid dead outside the door.

"Man, I don't know who you are, but your timing is impeccable. Preston Garvey, Commonwealth Minutemen," he welcomed.

"Minutemen? So now I'm traveling backward in time?"

""Protect the people at a minute's notice." That was the idea. So I joined up, wanted to make a difference. And I did, but..." he sighed. "Things fell apart. Now it looks like I'm the last Minutemen standing."

"The world's changed so much..." I shook my head and a frown played at my lips. "None of this makes any sense."

"You all right?" He looked at me has if I grew two heads. "Listen. We need your help. And then we can maybe help you, huh? What brought you out here?" He questioned.

"My baby Shaun's been kidnapped. He's not even a year old," I qivered. The likelyiness of finding him was minimum, out in this world I probably won't ever see him again; I needed to try. I could feel tears prick at the end of my vision. But I quickly blinked them away, and turned my attention towards a picture hanging on the wall. A steady man on a more steady perstine horse.

Preston face instantly softened. "That's messed up, I'm sorry. I know how this world can be." Then it changed into a scowl, "a month ago, there were twenty of us. Yesterday there were eight. Now, we're five. First it was the ghouls in Lexington. Now this mess."

"Ghouls? What are ghouls?"

"Wow, you really aren't from around here, are you? Ghouls are... irradiated people. Most are just like you and me. They're pretty messed up, and live a long time, but they're still just... people. The ones I'm talking about are different. The radiation rotted their brains. Made them feral. They'll rip you apart, just as soon as look at you. Anyway, we figured Concord would be a safe place to settle. Those raiders proved us wrong. But... Well, we do have one idea."

I nod my head, "lay it on me."

"Sturges? tell her."

I turned my attention toward a man prompt against a desk, he was sporting utility overalls with a head full of chestnut hair, and his skin was weathered from all the physical and out doors work he's down over the years. This must be Sturges.

"There's a crashed vertibird up on the roof. Old school. Pre-war. You might've seen it. Well, looks like one of the passengers left behind a seriously sweet goody. We're talking a full suit of cherry T-45 Power Armor. Military issue." He crossed his arms and waited for my response.

Never in my life have I ever been inside a Power Armor suit, nor have I ever thought about trying on one. It's one of those ideas that sound good at the moment so you have to pursue it. Right now was the case.

"I like it... Protection and it looks badass. Two in one deal," I grinned.

"Heh heh heh heh, yeah, I thought you might. Protection, with an added bonus. Get the suit, you can rip the minigun right off the vertibird." He takes both of his hands, pretending to snap something in thin air. "Do that, and those raiders get an express ticket to hell. You dig?"

"You had me at minigun."

"I know right? Theres only one hitch. The suits out of juice. Probably been dry for a hundred years. It can be powered up again, but we're a bit stuck."

"So what's the solution? Let me guess, it needs a battery of some sort? Maybe a power core."

"What you need is an old pre war F.C., a standardized Fusion Core. Your high grade, long term nuclear battery. Used by the military and some companies, way back when. And we know right where to find one..." Preston said.

"Look... I fix stuff. I tinker," Sturges admits, looking me straight in the face. "Bypassing security ain't exactly my forte. You could give it a shot."

"I'm fairly decent at hacking, it can't be too hard. I'll see what I can do. No promises though."

"Well all right," Preston said. "Maybe our luck's finally turning around. Once you jack the core into the Power Armor and grab that minigun, those raiders'll know they picked the wrong fight. Good luck."

It didn't take me long to get back to the main floor and make it to the gate with the battery in it. There were no enemy's, meaning easy passage. But it wouldn't take long before this place is packed with them again. I made hast, typing random passwords on the terminal and after the fourth try I got it correct. I opneed the gate and took the Fusion Core from the generator, there was flicker of lights and a hum before aventualy going back to normal.

I made my way to the roof, Fusion Core in hand, with a cold sickness possibly setting in already. But before I could make it up there I was stopped by the old woman, she held a friendly smile and gestures towards the dog following behind me.

"Well look here. Our rescuer. And my hero. Dogmeat did sure find someone to help," the old woman said. I walked up closer to the older woman. I peered down at 'Dogmeat' who was rolling around on the ground, probably scratching his back, or just goffing off. I scratched my forehead.

"So, he's your dog?" I asked.

"Oh he ain't my dog. Dogmeat, he's what you'd call his own man. You can't own a free spirit like that. But he chooses his friends, and sticks with em'. He'll stay by you know. I saw it."

"Visions. Uh huh." I shifted from one leg to the other.

"Oh, I know what you're thinking. This old lady, she's out of her mind. But it's the chems. They give ol' Mama Murphy the "sight.""

"The chems? I'm listening." Of course the chems would give her the 'sight' she's talking about, shes high out of her mind.

"I can see a bit of what was, and what will be. And even what is, right now. And right now I see there is something coming. Drawn by the noise, and the choas. And it is... angry," she closed her eyes for a few seconds before reopening thwm, now filled with fear and recognition.

I didn't know if she was right, or could look into the future and all the mumbo jumbo, but it wouldn't hurt to listen. I took a seat beside her on the couch. "What is it? Mama Murphy, don't leave me hanging. Please. It would help to know."

She paused for a moment, thinking it over, than she reclosed her eyes, opening them every so often, saying every detail slowly. "I see... I see... oh, it's horrible, kid. Claws and teeth and horns. The very face of death itself. That's all I can manage. That's all. I need to rest now. And you have a job to do..."

"Thanks, Mama Murphy."

"No problem, kid."

Dogmeat ran up to me wagging his tail and waiting for us to depart from the group.

"You stay here, Dogmeat." He whimpered but complied, laying down in the middle of the room.

There really was a crashed vertibird on the roof, and I completely missed it from outside. The Power Armor suit was rusted and aged, and missing the leg and arm plates. I popped the Fusion Core into it and watched has it opened up, beckoning me to enter. I stepped inside, and the suit closed in on me.

Thank goodness I'm not this clausphobic. Id probably be having a heart attack right about now.

I ripped the minigun from the vertibird and soon got to work. Everything was easier thanks to the suit, and I was faster thanks to the minigun.

I jumped down from the building. The ground beneath me shook from the impact, crushing the fray. I pulled the trigger, the barrel heating up as it began to shoot out bullets, and took down most of the raiders in one session. More came. And I did the same thing.

The pavement began to quake. Rubble crashed down into the streets. If it wasn't for the Power Armor I would have fell too.

_Boom. Boom. Boom._

_Crash!_ \- the top of the sewer busted open, skidding across the asphalt before colliding into a car. Something crawled from the opening. Something _menacing_. Like a deer in headlights I stared at the horrifying creature. It held itself almost demonic, horns betruded from it's skull, with razor sharp teeth dripping saliva from hunger. It's claws clanked against the intersection. And it opened it's mouth, show casing it's deadly munchers. But what I didn't expect was when it screeched a low growl - a roar, and it shook the glass of the nearby building - signaling a battle.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

I fumbled around with the minigun. It felt like hours before a shower of bullets rained down on the creature. It charged at me with incredible speed, jaws snapping and ready to pierce my armor.

With precise aiming, my target crashed down to the ground. Scales scrapped against the asphalt in a eye raping scrunch. It was all over. At least for the time being.

What hell was that thing?

I exited out of the Power Armor suit and made my way back in the museum. Preston and the others were gathered in the corner. I couldn't make out what they were saying, but it wouldn't be long before I did.

"That was... A pretty amazing display," Preston gawked. "I'm just glad you're on our side."

"The feelings mutaul," I said. "What the hell was that thing?"

"A deathclaw. Man, you really have been living under a rock."

"Not exactly- never mind."

"Listen..." he started. " When we first met.... You asked about the minutemen. One thing you should know about us, we help out our friends. So here. For everything you've done. Thank you."

Preston pulled a bag out of his pocket and handed it to me. I peered inside, only to see bottle caps. What? Is this some sort of joke, or was it today's currency? I didn't bother questioning it. Finally, I decided to pocket the caps.

"Uh, thanks. So what's next?"

"For the longest time, Mama Murphy's had a vision of a place called "Santurary." Some old neighborhood... But one we could make new again," he said. "Why dont you come with us? I could really use your help."

"Sorry Preston, I can't. I need to find my son." I said. "Before it's to late."

"I understand. You just take care now. If you find yourself in the area don't be afraid of stopping by."

I nodded and turned away to leave. But before I could take a step I was beckoned by Mama Murphy again.

"Before you leave, kid. A word" She began, "about the journey you're about to start on. 'Cause I've seen your destiny, and I know your pain."

I clenched my teeth. Not from anger. Not from frustration. But from the pain that swelled in my heart. I haven't noticed until now. The bags under my eyes told the same story. I've been crying my head out for two days. Grieving. After what I went through who wouldn't. Others would have crumbled, but I havent. Not yet anyway.

"What might that be."

"You're a woman out of time. Out of hope. But all's not lost. I can feel... Your sons energy. He's alive."

My eyes widen. "W-what? Where is he? Where is Shaun?"

"Oh, I wish I knew, kid. I really do. But it's not like I can see your son. I can just... Feel his life force, his energy. He's out there. And even I don't need the sight to tell your where you should start lookin'. The great, green jewel of the Commonwealth. Daimond city. The biggest settlement around."

"So I'm guessing I should start there. Ask around. Gotta admit I'm practically starting from nothing. Scratch that, I am. But it's better then nothing. You guys stay safe, Mama Murphy, Preston."

I grabbed Dogmeat, a few extra cartons of ammo and headed out to the Commonswealths green jewel, Daimond city. Little was known. I don't know what to expect, but who says a great mystery story filled with revenge can't start from vague beginnings. It just makes things all too interesting. And this story was just beginning.


	3. Vague Void

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Chance is a word void of sense; nothing can exist without a cause."

Chapter 3  
Vague Void  

\------------------

 

Life had a funny way of biting me in the ass. Maybe it was karma that was doing the favor. But I knew that wasn't the case. Nothing in life ever makes since, but like the saying goes:

"That's life for you." 

That's Life -- a motto/quote used in context and conversation when someone is having a rather off day, or to brighten the mood a bit -- bittersweet to the tongue, calming to the ears. But thats just an understatement. I was having more then a bad day, my life changed. And not for the best. 

Life is a passing phase after all - then there's Death, cladded in a spiffy and brooding robe, waiting for you just around the corner; with a ballpoint pen and a board in hand with a name tag pinned to his chest that reads "Hi! My name is Death!". Than he ever so gently places these items in your absent, outstretched arms, to which you accept graciously with a more than giddy smile frozen on your figure. And that's when you sign your name on the slip of paper on the board, in cursive and print it says, like a contract. You didn't read it, or at least not entirely - no one ever does. And that's when Death unclothed himself to to reveal the sinister presence that was masked the entire time; the entity hooks you from the back, claws digging until it reaches your spinal cord, and throws you down a void of flame.  And next thing you know you just sold your soul to the Devil. What a plot twist right? Not in the slightest. 

That's what usually happens. And  greed tops the cake on this particular situation. You don't have to sign a slip, you have to be human to get a free pass to hell. Not really hard is it anymore? 

War - That's the cause of greed, hostility, corruption and all the in betweens. Or perhaps the effect?  That's what make us human. What makes me human. War never changes. From the dawn of time humans been at each other's throats: for greed of more land, from gutted pride and egos.  War - war never changes. 

Everyone I knew, everyone I loved - gone. Dead. Burned to a crisp from the bombs. My mom, a woman of many words but couldn't mask her eager and giddy facial expressions for her new grandsons arrival to the big, wide world, and the same woman who cared for me when I was down with the flu, who cared for me with so much love to give that no other person could basto. My dad who was kind yet stern, with a gleam of nothing but pride and admiration, who loved working on cars and fixing things; the same man who said one day he'll build a play house for Shaun if his back and joints didn't get in the way. But knowing him he'd still do it even if his back was threatening to throw out. They were dead.  Dead. No funeral, no goodbyes, no last 'I love you'. And here I am, left to rot in this hellish world. Why?  Because of war. 

I quivered at the thoughts that plaqued my conscience and kicked some rubble that used to be part of the road I was walking down. A single tear slipped down my cheek, but I quickly wiped it away with the cuff of my sleeve. 

My companion gushed with suspension, tethered but pointed ears shifting in directions trying to pick up any odd noises. His canines, a creamy yellow, shined in the moonlight. I was amazed how calm and alert this pooch was. Most of the time, in my twenty five years of age, have always had a goofy dog that couldn't tell the difference between his dog toys and my expensive shoes. But Dogmeat was different. He was hardened from this harsh life of survival, much like the people. However, his inner puppy shows itself once in awhile.  

My (y\e\c) eyes casted about our surroundings, we were surrounded by annihilated shops, cars, and nothing I haven't seen in the span of two days. One being a bookstore with no possibility of entering thanks to the boards that covered every entrance, even the Windows and the smoke pipes up top. And the others I couldn't make out, their signs were either gone by now or were homes before the war. Hopefully I don't have to encounter anymore skeletons laying about. Poor souls. 

Dogmeat nuzzled at my back, whimpering uneasily and snipping at my leg, trying to stop me. "What is it, boy?" He planted himself where he was, unmoving, and proceeded to lay down. 

I yawned. "I'm tired too, boy. But we got to keep moving. Come on."

He didn't move. I guess even Dogmeat has his limits.  

I huffed, quickly running my fingers through my tangled (y\h\c) hair. I didn't have a brush on hand so I had to resort to finger combing. Which wasn't really helping to begin with. "So I see how its going to be. Fine, you win this time."

We were barely in the ruins of the city, we were on the far side of it. Or so I thought. I used to know these streets like the back of my palm. Now, I'm has lost as a chick is inside a foxes den. 

To say I was lost was an understatement. But now I couldn't just simply ask a bystander for directions. They would rather shoot-the-stranger then stand around and talk, other than point in the correct direction to Diamond City. Which I didn't know where it just so happened to be. Or where I was to begin with.  

Suddenly, Dogmeat sprung up defensively, teeth bared, and started growling at a ruined car. I couldn't see much, besides the moonlight that shined off his matted fur and my own hands. I stepped a little closer, straining my eyes to get a clear view. But I still could not see. Suddenly there was movement, just a little motion of a shadowed figure before it disappeared.  

I cleared the lump from my throat,  taking a causis step back. "Is someone there?" The shadow got bigger. No answer.  

A fiqure darted from the pitch black, staggering and trembling like the old world zombies you would see on a holovid and in sy-fy and horror books. Tethered clothes clinged to horrified skin and muscle, and it's back bent in a unnatural way with a boney spine protruding from the thin, puss filled flesh of the creature. It gurgled, thick yellow silvia dripped from its mouth and down it's arms. 

My limbs felt icy numb, I tried to calm my erotic breathing but my lungs continued to heave in large gulps of air. I tumbled back, tripping on debris. My back pressed against a wet, cold brick wall with sweat forming on my brows. 

And in that same moment it screeched - charging at me straight on and completely ignoring Dogmeat that sunken his teeth into it's leg. It never reached me. It tumbled onto the ground, thanks to the pooch. I stopped breathing, staring straight into it's eyes for a split second. It looked human, in a way. It was once human at least. But there was nothing left in those black, soulless bulging eyes of it. Madness lurked deep in those deep black pits. There was nothing human about it anymore, only a hollow shell of mingled flesh and zombie tendencies. 

I whipped out my pistol and took care of the creature. 

I stood there for god knows how long,  shocked from what I just in countered.  I sunk against a wall, eaving a deep breath. I fell to my knees, looking into my hands. They were blistered and swollen from physical labor. The only work I've ever known was limited to tech smarts and paper and pencil; and the ability to use my brain. So this was a whole knew level for me. I wasn't trained for survival, how to a gun. These callus were from writing and typing. Not from lifting and punching. Or building. Anything in that line of context actually. 

I soon lifted myself up from the pile of rubble, and jolted from a sudden pain that came from my left arm. 

"Shit," I winced. I forgot I got nicked by a bullet back in the Museum. 

The sleeve of the vault suit now had a slanted tear in it and dried blood caked the blue fabric. I couldn't see much but I knew I just reopened the wound and now it was bleeding again. I applied pressure to the wound, it wasn't bleeding severely, only a little drabble, but it was swollen from an infection that began to set in.   

"What a lovely mess we got ourselves into, uh Dogmeat? This sucks." 

The dog whimpered in response, sitting on my feet. 

"I knew I should have stopped hours ago," I muttered under my breath. There was no telling what else lurked in the ruins of Boston. Hopefully nothing has huge and terrifying as a deathclaw. 

And everything, from the shabby constructions with it's creaks and dings to the tiniest of noise was more terrifying at night. And more dangerous might I add. 

The travel here took hours of daylight that seemed to be more essential in surviving then what I hoped for. 

I even passed my favorite diner me and Nate used to have late night meals when coming back from the drive in movie theater. Drumlin Diner, it was close by and cheap, plus they always served the best burgers and the thickest milkshakes. Their cozy seats were enough for us to sit there for hours on end, talking about our younger days. 

The last time I've been here ended in us going to the park afterwards for a nightly stroll. And then some. Weeks later I found out I was pregnant with Shaun. Wink, wink. 

I was more than I little surprised to see that there was a sort of commotion going in front of the historic diner, one where an old lady was being held at gun point by lowlife drug dealers because her son couldn't pay for the chems he bought.  

It didn't take much effort to convince that they leave Trudy and her son alone. Manipulating bad people to do good things isn't exactly my talent, and its a hard task to begin with. But it's also not impossible either. 

But now there was no way of telling where I was, everything seemed exaggerated and animated. The looming darkness coming straight out of a horror movie. But it was all terrifyingly real, every sketchy noise, the pitter patter of gutter water, the creaking of swaying loose wood; nothing about it was faked, it wasn't a set filled with expensive props and boarded up faces of buildings with foam bricks and crumbled paper laying about in their correct places, no paid actors with practiced lines, not even with volunteered actors with horrible expressive acting were present. That's because this was all painfully real.  

And there was nothing I could do about it. 

The streets snaked into a maze that had no ending, it twisted into dead ends stationed with raiders or where ghouls crawled from under broke down vehicles or abandoned buildings. 

Sneaking by raiders was easy. But ghouls were predators in search of prey, anything they could sink their teeth in that would full their belly's. I couldn't comprehend it. If I didn't know any better I'd say they had an acute sense of smell, because when attempted to hide, they find me without a hitch. 

"You know where you going, Dogmeat? Because I have no fucking clue," I huffed. 

I didn't peer down at the dog, I just kept looking forward. There was a gleam of yellow light that bounced off the rubble in the distance. Dim-light that reflected from the alley to the left. There were a few grunts, but nothing audible. Deep and rough. 

"Sit and stay," I ordered Dogmeat. He whimpered but complied, sitting where he stood. 

I creeped along the side of buildings, making sure I was undetectable. My heart was racing. But my even steps towards the source of lighting grew into longer strides. There was an itch along the inside of my palm that spread to my wrist. I knew what that meant: don't go over there, you'll regret it. Danger, danger. Abort, abort. 

But I ignored it and continued. 

Peering over the corner were industrial lights lining the property. They couldn't hit my spot, but knowing that these could be the work of raiders sent a shiver down my spine. 

"You are idiot, I am superior super mutant. You are weaker super mutant." 

I froze. 

Super mutant? What the hell? Why do they sound like that? 

I sucked in a lung full of air before looking over the corner to where the owner of the voices were. I didn't make a sound, I didn't even breath. I couldn't spot anyone or anything that held decrimnating nature. But then I heard the voice again, but this time grittier. 

"Ha ha. You confused with yourself. I am stronger and superior super mutant. You are weaker." 

It's coming from inside, and whoever and whatever it is, I do not feel like dealing with today. Well, tonight. 

Flashing red letters caught my eye - sign that read Goodnieghbor, pointing right into another ally way. It was secured with a fairly high wall and looked to be a settlement of some sorts. Lights of all colors flicked across the disarranged walls of neighboring buildings, and the faint sound of muttered voices could be heard in the slight breeze from the far north, carrying the sound of civilization other than the wasteland that laid around it. It wasn't Diamond City, but it was a start. The only obstacle in the way was sneaking past whoever runs the building beside me. And they don't sound to welcoming either, or intelligent. But that could be an advantage on my part.  

I clicked my tongue and turned around, he was right on my heels; his matted coat of gold and black now flowing in the chilling night air, with his nuzzle high up in the air. Than he growled. I already knew what was about to happen and I was not about to let it slide this time - my hand clinched around Dogmeats leather collar, accidentally grabbing a bit of dog hair, and I tugged him back before he went running off into danger again. He whined in protest. His eyes were wider than a baby and he tilted his head one way and the other; his eyes flickering to the building and me. He couldn't settle on one.

My knees hit the ground softly with my hand still clasping his collar just in case. "Not now, Dogmeat." I whispered. "We need to stay quiet so we can sneak past and-- wait, why am I speaking to a Dog? Uh, nevermind." 

I forced myself up and released Dogmeat. The feeling of sanity dispatching almost. 

And so it happened. Dogmeat took off, his tail being the last thing of what I saw before he vanished behind the building. And so I did the same; I sprinted across the destroyed road, feet pounded the tarmac with all the grace of a sack of wet concrete; my feet not being as stealthy as they were when I was well rested, instead they ached with each stride, more painful than the last. I didn't dare look towards the grunts and growns in the building, I was too focused on not tripping over my own feet or slipping on the path dampened with recent rain. But maybe that was a bad idea.

One second I was searching for the pooch in the sea of black and rubble, the next I smacked into something hard, not as hard as a wall, but something not human; I slowly peered up, following the figure from its enormous feet to its freakishly toned torso, and than to its face. 

Its face, the skin tone, what the hell is it? 

It was an ill green of some sort, humanoid figure that reached as far as a street lamp could. Its hands raised up, the size of an everyday garbage can lid, with fingers the size of sausages that could break an average man's neck in half effortlessly, perhaps even rip the skull from the spine in one mighty tug of the wrist if it so happened wanted to. Its face was scrunched up into an infinite scowl, lips curled back in a snarl, with yellowed, rotten teeth clenched. And it was cladded with molded fabric around its torso, with rusted metal plates that resembled pieces and bits of shopping carts.

whatever it was -- it definitely wasn't human.

And than it snatched me up by my hair, lifting me to face length with the creature. I was too stunned to protest as it sniffed at my head, and than it jabbed its enormous finger into my gut. Suddenly reality came crashing back down, and than I felt the pain from being held up by my hair, not to mention the hand poking at my stomach.

I screamed as loud as I could and dug my polished nails into the creatures calloused hand. "Help! Someone hel-" 

Suddenly it threw me to the ground. "Stupid human, makes good food." 

Its enormous foot collided with my head, knocking my skull back against a lone brick. A whimper escaped my puffed lips. 

Crack- Pop! 

One hand reached for my face while the other reached for the laser musket on my back. Blood. My nose must have been broken when it kicked me, or maybe my lip was busted - I couldn't tell, my face was numb of all pain at the moment. And than the worst case scenario happened: the lasser musket was gone, thrown a few desperate feet away from me. It must have fallen from its case when I fell. My heart started racing at an inhuman speed as the humanoid creature wrapped its green hand around my ankle, and proceeded to yank me up by one leg. 

A gunshot rang out, bouncing from ally way to ally way. 

Than I came crashing to the ground, hitting head first on to the concrete. There was few more gunshots before the creature before me came crashing down on me like timber. It must have weighted more than three men because I was lost of breath and was unable to inhale any fresh oxygen to regain myself. I kicked my legs up, trying to get a decent grip to slide myself from under the beast. But I couldn't. My lungs began to burn, and I gasped for oxygen I so admittedly needed for survival.

There was a flash of red, and than the green mass was lifted off of me. 

"You alright, sunshine? Almost lost ya there for a second," someone said.

I was to busy catching my breath to answer, or continue listen to what they were saying; the pain being to great of a mass, it pulsed through my skull like little ripples of liquid fire down to my neck when I tried to open my eyes. Suddenly, I was lifted up by strong arms. And than I felt myself slip off. 

There was a tunnel, black fuzz on all four corners that caved inward - and the entrance, the source of light that seemed to be miles and miles away - it spiralled and twisted, waved and knocked into and never ending crack of dismay. There were voices too, some raspy, others emergent that seemed far way. And they echoed. Their voices bounced off the walls of this infinite dark tunnel that I couldn't escape. It was impossible, it was as if I was stuck in a dream within a dream, a never ending nightmare that casted shadowy vagueness upon myself. 

And than there was pitch black; no voices, no noises of any sort. It was quiet. Dark, lonely almost. But also calming, numbing, everything that was weighing me down was no long on my shoulders for me to bare. There was nothing; emptiness, I was stuck in a black room, a void of despair almost with no light showing me the way out.

I felt at peace finally.  


	4. The Ghoul

**Chapter 4**

**The Ghoul**

**__________________________**

The dog and I have an understanding; it wasn't there at first. When I found him by Red Rocket I didn't know what to suspect. Usually strays aren't this protective, he had the street smarts to him, yes, but he had a flame that was indistinguishable. He was a raw bundle of unspent energy, crammed into a canine shape several sizes too small for his personality. He was more than a dog, he was almost an like friend of mine. Never spoke but always listened, carefully and continted, with those eyes of pure expectation.

When I woke up on a cold metal examination table, he was right by my side, dusty paws up on the counter with his tongue dripping smelly silva and a thrilled bark that was loud enough to hurt my ear drums. And than he licked me on the face until I gave in and patted his head in reinsurance. When I laughed it sent a sharp stabbing pain through my cramin and down my spine and ealier events came to mind. However, that wasnt all, there was someone else in the room, as I spotted a petite fiqure typing away at a terminal.

I tried to sit up, trust me I tried, but the pain that ribbled through my skull and spine made my attempt useless.

"Don't sit up just yet, your muscles and nerves are still in shock." The woman turned to me. She held a needle; med-x perhaps. "This will sooth some of the pain."

She flicked at the body of the syringe, making sure there were no air bubbles trapped in the barrel, I starred at the purple liquid inside. Yes, it was most defiantly med-x from what little I could recall. My deadly migraine kept me silent, and the woman walked over to my left side of the bed. She greeted me with a nuteral expression, her voice showing the same.

"Hello, I'm Doctor Amari. You've been out for quite some time, you have injured your cranem but nothing too serious. However, it would be best if you rested for a while. I'm going to give you a shot of Med-X, so just sit tight while I finish up."

After a minute or so she came over to my side and patiently shooed Dogmeat off the bed. "Now if you would please give me your arm," she asked. Or so I think. Every thing was blurry, a haze. 

I finally grogally peered up at the woman, funny thing was, I seen two of her. Both in perfect corrdination. And then she would blend right back into one person, before doubling again. Stars twinkled in my vision before a soring pain crippled my ability to process the situation at hand. I felt something cold against my arm, and than a pinch. My mucsles tensed up, then released. I felt light, drazy. My migraine suddenly soothed over and then the presumely doctor became clear to me now. Wait, where was I; how long have I been here? I shifted against the warm covers and lifted myself up. I could only feel the dall ache of pulled muscles and bruises. 

"W-where," I began, my voice cracking from my mouth being dry. "Where am I?"

The brunette shifted her gaze at me, and furred her eyebrows. She sighed, "you're in Goodneighbor, sicfically the Memory Den. You have been in a short comma for approxaimly three and a half days. I had to stitch up your arm due to a gun wound I believe, and it was in the early stage of infection, so it should have cleared up by now. And you might be sore for the next few days, if not weeks. You hit your head pretty hard." 

The doctor must be in her early thirties, her eyes held a stern glare, aged and tired, a warm chestnut glow. Her lips thinned into a calculating manner, her forehead scrunched little to none winkles. She kept her natural brown hair short and neat, her bangs swept out of her eyes. She almost reminded me of one of my neighbors, Clare, she bored simularities. The thought made me sink back against the cold wall even more.

"Three days? I've really been out for that long..." I paused. "How did I get here?"

"John Hancock," she said. "He and the neighborhood watch brung you here. Hancock's the mayor of Goodneighbor, so if you get the time you should go see him." I grunted in response.

I sat up completely and swung my stiff legs over the side of the bed. I felt horrible, the medicine barely muting the pain, but I stood on wobbly legs, eager to get up. I could feel the tug of bandages being pulled out of place, torn muscles being pulled further. I bit the side of my cheek, trying not to cry out in agony. Why does everything hurt so bad. I looked down at myself to see I was wearing clothes that weren't mine; I wore what I presume was once a crystal white tank top, now it was stained a disgusting shade of yellow from past use, and a pair of baggy blue shorts that reached down to the top of my knees. If I didn't know any better I'd say I were wearing rags. I smelt of sweat and body odor -- or perhaps it was from the clothing I wore at the moment. I suddenly shifted my feet and shivered from the chill that ran down my spine.

"I would advice you to lay back down if you don't want to injure yourself further. I know you must be sore and in pain. But I am not stopping you if you wish to leave. Your clothes and belongings are in that bin over there." I followed her index finger to a contain beside the bed. 

My attention lingered on a strange chair, a machine of some kind, with a television screen mounted on the door that clasped shut; it was all metal, rusted and dented in some places, otherwise kept well and maintained. There were two of them, stationed a few feet apart. The strong burning scent of rubbing alcohol overwhelmed my nostrils and I scrunched up my face, turned over to the bin and pulled my soiled vault suit out. It's better than my current attire at least. My bag was also in the bin, to my relief. And my pistol too. It took me a split second to realize that the laser musket was missing, probably still out in the Common somewhere, or perhaps someone took it for themselves. I growled and closed the bin, shifting my attention to the doctor.

"Where can I change?" I weakly asked. I began to feel fatigue, my hands shook as I tried to keep hold of my suit fermly. She motioned to a cracked door, and I went in, saying thank you before closing it. 

I was in a bathroom, the smell of stagnic water and mold was overwelming, dark and dusty. I changed as quick as I could. I hissed when I accidently hit my stitching and pressed down on certain areas. My skin was a battle field, littered with dark hues of ill yellows and deep purples, a scar ran up my leg, another forming on my arm now. I ran a hand through my tangled hair and I spotted a glimpse of dark bags under my eyes. I didn't have that same glow I used to have. I was broken and battered. Used and worn. This world made it seem like my old life was just a dream -- a beautiful, care-free dream. And how I hated it. I exited the bathroom and sat the neatly folded rag on top of the bed. Dogmeat laid curled up on the floor. 

"Thank you doctor..." I couldn't recall her name but she seemed to have picked up on my unfinished sentence.

"I am doctor Amari," she said. "And your welcome. However, I see you have not heeved my warning. Remember to pull the stitches out in three days, if you don't come back that is."

"Well, thank you doc. I don't know how I could repay you."

"Don't worry about it," Amari said.

I pulled my bag over my shoulder and stuffed my gun into a side pocket, easy to reach, easy to use. Now that I was in Goodneighbor, I might as well ask around for a bit of answers. And whose better to start with then the mayor himself, I do have to pay him a visit considering he saved me from those creatures anyways. 

I licked my lips. I needed something to drink, and something to eat. And it shown on my figure as well. But I pulled my lips together in a thin line, chewed on the inside of my cheek. I heard the creak of foot steps against loose floor boards and then my attention fell onto the figure in the door way, he was tall, about average height, but much taller than me.

"Well, she's finally up and at em' I see." His voice was deep and rough, leering almost. The man walked closer and moved into the lit room.

I almost screamed from what I saw next. 

He was one of them. A ghoul. He was one of those radiated monsters that seemed to be around every bend and corner. He harbored the radiated flesh, the missing carilage such as the nose and ears, the pitch-black eyes, everything that is a ghoul. I backed up a few steps, my knuckles white from having been in a fist tightly. The smile he wore disappeared and was replaced with a worried expression.

"You alright, sister?" He asked.

I didn't answer, just stared. His eyes were dark pools, but even so they held a light, something was drawing me to them, telling me everything was going to be ok. They didn't hold that same vague madness as the others I encountered. He was different. He still had humanity. But his flesh was scorched, muscles and tendents open for the world to see. He _had_ handsome features, from what I could tell. The ghoul's thin lips were pressed together firm for a second before settling on a small smile, a natural smirk. He almost resembled a hairless cat with a skin condition, beacause his body was absent of any body hair of what I could see. He stood comfortably, his lean form pressed tight in a white shirt underneath a red frock coat. A worn tricorn hat sat upon his head. The American flag tied around his waist for support. Why he dressed as such was beyond me. The ghoul flickered his attention to the doctor then back on me.

"Is she ok, nothing's knocked out of place is it?" 

"She should be. Perhaps she just doesn't want to speak to you," Amari said.

The ghoul chuckled lightly, "ah, Amari. Lovely as always." 

He came closer to me, now only a few feet away. "So, how are ya feeling? You took a pretty bad hit out there."

I cleared my throat. "I'm peachy. Just got a splitting headache, not to mention the aches and pains. But I suppose I'll just walk it off like a skinned knee. Thanks for asking." Sarcasm dripped from my words like a water fall. This headache didn't exactly help my attitude after all.

The ghoul didn't narrow his gaze at me, or call out on how I was being a smart ass. No, he smirked instead.

"And she speaks," he cheered. He clasped his hands together before setting them by his side. I stood still, calculating eyes watching for his next move. I didn't know if I could trust him, or the doctor. You could never know. I finished fiddling with my bag and stood straight, I didn't say a word.

The ghoul leaned on the wall, crossing his arms, his gaze fixed on me. I could tell he wanted something, answers probably. But he still had his friendly atmosphere going on still. His none existing brows knitted together in concentration.

"So what's a girl like you doing in a place like this?" he asked.

I met eye contact with the ghoul, I might as well tell him. I sighed, "I took a little detour and stumbled across this place. I was actually looking for Diamond City. I'm looking for a missing person."

"Hmm, is that so?" He rubbed his strong jaw, his eyes falling onto the doctor. I almost forgot she was here.

He bid fell well to the doctor, "thank you, Amari. I'll be taking your patient here." He motioned for me to follow him. "Looks like you could use some sunshine anyways."

I hesitated for a second before following suit after the ghoul, his past slowed to match mine. The further I ventured the more of those chair machines popped up. Soon I was in a room filled with them, a well-figured woman sprawled out on a vintage sofa, and the color red seeped from every glimpse. I wonder if those chair had anything to do with the fact this place was called the Memory Den. Before I knew it we were outside.

Goodnieghbor was a slum, trash littered the streets and the people looked the part, most wearing rags. Trashcans were lit on fire to keep others warm and to show a bit of light when it gets past night fall. A cook station was in the far corner, same as a work bench. I could only make out about half of the town, no telling what was on the other side. What caught my eye was the big building in the middle of everything -- the old state house of Massettusettes. First built in 1798 and still standing in 2287. I remembered back when I was in seventh grade, I was probably only twelve, I couldn't remember, and I came here for a field trip. I was being rewarded for passing my state tests. What simple times. I sucked in a harsh breath and turned away from the building, facing the man-ghoul, who seemed to seep pride from the way he looked around the grounds.

"I'm the mayor of this fine town," he started. "I'm John Hancock, but you can call me Hancock."

I crossed my arms and gave one more look around, and mapped out the area to the best of my memory. There's no telling when I'll have to come back here avengerally. I noted the glowing sign of the old Hotel Rexford -- I didn't quite remember if that was there before the war, I didn't know. The town's people were bussling, men who held guns passed me a suspicouis glance like I would pull something, and I could barely sniff out the smell of BlamCo Mac & Cheese among the pungent smell of the streets. My stomach bit at itself from the mouth watering aroma. I quickly introduced myself to calm my hunger.

"I'm (y/n) (l/n)."

The ghoul, now known as Hancock, pulled a pack of cigs from his back pocket. He offered one, "wanna smoke?"

My eyes almost popped from their sockets at the temptation, and I took the stale cigggerate in my grasp. "Shit, yes. I need a smoke." Hancock chuckled at my reaction.

As soon as I inhaled the cancerous smoke into my lungs, I felt the world lift from my shoulders. My muscles untensed at that very moment, and I finally calmed the erotic beating of my heart. I was finally at peace, but only for this moment. I would have to deal with it once more after. It was silent for a second before Hancock asked me a question I didn't quite understand.

"You heard of the institute, right?" he questioned.

I cleared my lungs of smoke, "no, who's the insitute?"

"Don't tell me we have a pair of virgin ears? You just made my day," he seemed amused by the fact I looked dumbfounded. He began, "the Institute and their synths are like the un-neighborly boogeymen of the Commonwealth. They go around and replace people with synth look-a-likes. Synths are just like you and me. Only they didn't get created the natural, fun way. No. They were built. By the Institute. Some of the older ones are basically just robots, but the new models? Your own mother couldn't tell the difference. So that's why me and mine gotta stay extra-special close to one another. Any slight change might be a clue that someone's been replaced."

"Wait, why the hell do they replace people then? What's the point," I asked. I tossed my finished cig on the ground and turned my full attention on Hancock.

"Hell if I know. Mess with people's heads? Control us from the shadows? Or maybe they do just because they can." He looked sterner, "no one knows where the institute is, what kind of people they are, or why they've decided to engineer their own slaves, but there it is. Just to be clear. Everyone's welcome in Goodneighbor. I don't care if you're a Synth, Ghoul, or even a Super Mutant. So long as you play nice. And lemme tell ya. Synth's still under the Institute's control don't play nice."

It took me a second to absorb all this information. Could Shaun's kidnapping be connected with the Institute? Is that where Hancock was coming from? My head filled with questions, but no answers. I needed answers, and quick. I chewed on my bottom lip and looked down at Dogmeat for a split second before looking back at Hancock, I tapped my foot against the cracked pavement out of habit.

"So, you're telling me the Institute might have something to do with the missing person."

"Maybe, maybe not. You could never tell with the Institute. Who's the person?"

I hesitated, but decided to trust the mayor. "I- well, my son. He's just am infant, not even a year old. He was stolen from me when..." I stopped myself from telling too many details. He wouldn't believe me, no one would. "Some assholes killed my husband and stole my son in the process." I closed my eyes for a moment and huffed slowly, my chest ached suddenly.

Hancock's eyes softened in pity, "shit, sorry to hear about that. Listen, I know someone who could help you out. He's in Diamond City, goes by the name Nick Valentine. He's one hell of a private detective. Even looks the part. You can't miss him, he sticks out like a sore thumb. If anyone can do it'd be him, he can find you're son."

This bit of news as been the best thing that as happened to me so far, and I only hoped it was true; but why would the mayor be lying about something like that. I let the brick wall hold me up, cold and damp, I felt a new energy in me. But I held myself back, and rubbed the drowsieness from my eyes. I was getting to Diamond City as soon as possible. At least I hoped to. I sprung from the wall, a spring to my step.

"You wouldn't by any chance have a map would ya? I'm a bit rusty to this area."

Hancock cracked a grin, the corner of his would-be sombre lips was a crease of amusement. "Leaving now. Damn, you are persistent. I like that. Come here."

After Hancock put the corridinates into my pipboy, I almost killed myself for not realizing it sooner. Diamond City was the old Baseball Stadium. A fowl taste settled at the back of my throat.

"So it's the good ol' baseball stadium. Wow..." I rubbed my head. "Thanks, Hancock. For saving my ass back there and giving me directions. I owe you."

The ghoul shook his head, "no need for all this appraisal. Just pop your head in to say hi the next time you're in Goodneighbor."

"Sure thing. But I still owe you a drink. First rounds on me."  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bare with me, Nick is in the next chapter. Promise.


	5. Unlikely Valentine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "We must be willing to let go of the life we have planned, so as to have the life that is waiting for us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, I would appreciate if you point out any errors because I didn't proofread this because I was too lazy. I'll go back and fix it. 
> 
>  
> 
> Thanks you for reading and I hope you enjoy the story.

If I could say one opinion, it would be Daimond City deffaintly didn't live up to its expectations. Or rather, mine. But for what its worth, it seemed like a pretty decent set up, and it was safe at least. It had a news paper, a barber shop, food vendors, medical treatment and all the nessary shops that makes up the bones of a town. What really got to me was that Diamond City had an education system, an elementrary school for kids, that taught from old but intacked textbooks, something I did not think would survive in the post-apyoculspe. But I suppose not everyone can be dumb, can they? 

The detective's place wasn't so shabby either, he even had his own sign that fitted perfectly against the dirt painted brick, it's brialent red lights luminated the alleyway. And when I went inside of what I presumed was Valentine Detective Agency, it had everything that a noir detective should have. First thing you see when you walk through the heavy metal door was a scratched covered wooden desk. Papers and files were scattered about like a tornado has been through. Boxes piled around the cramped room, and I could only assume they were filled with cases. I was met with a fimilair smell, the air was thick with the scent of burnt coffee, the pungent whiff of tobbaco clung to the walls in a yellow tar film. A woman was in the far corner -- the space of the office wasn't that big, however -- she was hunched over a filing cabinet, flipping through files while mumbling nonsense under her breath. She turned around slowly, still slumping, after hearing the rusty door behind me slam shut.

"Another stray coming in from the rain." She dragged out an exhausted sigh. "I'm afraid you're too late. Office is closed."

"What do you mean," I asked, bitterness dripped from my tone. I stopped myself further. "I mean... I know you must be busy, but I really need you're help. It's important." 

The woman smoothed back her chestnut strands that dangled in her face, she held herself warry. "You're right. I didn't mean to be rude, but it's just... the detective. He's gone missing." 

I raised a brow and crossed my arms. "Wait so... does the detective go missing very often?"

She shook her head, "well, no. There was this one time... but he came back the next day. He's been gone going on day two now."

I positioned myself into a seat and wiggled to get comfortable, the woman didn't show any protest. I need the rest. "Lay it on me. What did the detective get himself into exactly?" 

"He disappeared working a case. Skinny Malone's gang had kidnapped a young woman, and he tracked them down to their hideout in Park Street Station," she paused. "There's an old vault down there they use as a base. I told Nick he was walking into a trap, but he just smiled and walked out the door like he always does."

"There's another vault?" I lend forward in my chair. "Ok, I know this might sound a bit crazy. Because it completely does to me, but... I came from one of those vaults. Vault one-eleven to be exact. They, They froze us in these pods."

Her eyes widened. "What, that's not possible."

I shook my head and clenched my jaw. I couldn't believe it either and I was there myself. I lived the tale. Yet, it did not make any sense, none that was clear to me at least. But I knew one thing was for certain: that it was real as my own being. I was the proof of what Vault-tec did, that it was possible to cryogenically freeze an alive person for as long as time could surrender. I was the woman out of time. And now I had to deal with the consiquences of karma, for whatever that may be. I didn't know, and I still don't. I shook my head and finally said what I was trying to grasp.

"Well, I was one of their frozen popiscles they left in the back of the freezer. I'm not freezer burnt or anything, and I'm surprisingly still intact. Well, most of me at least."

"Oh my god... It must be tough, seeing the world as it is now. I couldn't imagine it."

I could only nod at her words.

I suppose she chose to believe me from the way I was dressed, but anyone could get their hands on a vault suit. Or perhaps, it was the way I held myself, Innocent to this world. I had no clue either way. But about vault suits -- all you'd need to know is where a vault should be, and boom, you got yourself an entire vault to yourself. Skinny Malone had the right idea.

"Enlighten me: who's Skinny Malone?"

"I don't know much about him, but he's from Goodneighbor, and that means he's in the well-pressed suits and machine guns school of thuggery."

I snorted. "Great. He's that kinda guy." I shook off my amusement. My eyes met with the woman. "I'll find Nick. You have my word."

Her back suddenly straightened out of her slouched position. Her lips curled at the corners, a warm and sencere smile. "Thank you." 

"What does he look like? So you know, I don't accidently shoot the guy." I sprung up from my sitting position and dusted off my suit. "I have a nack for accidently getting myself into trouble, and I don't want that to be one of them. Because, you would not believe it. Trust me."

She appeared certain, "Nick should be easy to spot. He's always wearing that old hat and trench getup. Please, hurry!"

"So I've been told."

\-----

"You wouldn't by any chance know what we're getting ourselves into, would you? Because I can barely take out a couple of raiders, and look at me now... About to attempt to save someone from a group of thugs." I peered down at the pup.

The pooch didn't answer. He was too accompanied, his nozzle shifted through the dirt and rubble. 

I gapsed dramatically. "Oh Dogmeat, you really think so? You really believe I could pull off such a triffic feat."

Dogmeat sneezed out a clump of dirt and snot, his nose covered in a thin shield of mucus, with a bit of something sticking to it. His stiff ears flopped as he shook the dust off of him, which in return, coated some of me now.

"You're right, Dogmeat. Of course I can. I wasn't frozen for two-hundred years just to die to a bunch of punks, after all."

The dog cocked his head at me after hearing his name. He knew I was talking about him.

I moaned. "Not to offend you, my fluffy pal, but I'm getting tired of talking to myself." 

'And this is what happens when you talk to a dog,' I thought. 'Damn, if only someone else was out here. Perhaps I wouldn't feel so... alone.'

The pooch was a good dog, don't get me wrong. But, like the normal human being I was, I needed the communication. Such a need would at least make me feel like I'm not drifting into the next deminsion. Nonetheless, I wasn't alone. I had Dogmeat, a trusty mutt, brave and filled with euthusam. But that didn't stop the nagging feeling that clawed at my heart. I rubbed the back of my neck and stood in front of a bent street sign.

I brought up the cuff of my sleeve and wiped away the dust that coated the sign to see the chipped words. "Park Street. Just as I thought. Now all we gotta do is..." I could see little of the park's fences. "Keep going straight and we're there." 

My eyes scanned over the tethered park. Dark and gloomy. It wasn't always this way. But now... it was nothing but a sespool of radiation and bad times. The swan boats were scattered into pieces, some floated in the musky water, old war trash skimmed the surface, littered in chunks of buildings. I could almost smell the stand-stilled water from where I stood, which wasn't too far, I was standing just a way from the entrance to the station. I turned my heels and went up to the huge doors. I clicked my tongue to grab Dogmeats attention.

"Ok, boy. I don't know what's down there, and you know what that means. No running off like you did the other times. Nearly got me and you both killed."

Dogmeat started scratching behind his ear, not paying mind to my words. 

I pinched the bridge of my nose. "And the Great Listener award goes to Dogmeat, he truly deserves it. I would know." I directed my attention back to the problem at hand.

The station wasn't as cold as I thought it was going to be. It was dimly lit, the only source of lighting was misplaced lanterns, and the main source came from the room at the bottom of the stairs. I could barely make out voices -- all males from what I could tell. I crept beside the doorframe and pocked my head out, just to see. I knew straight away I couldn't sneak pass them, there were too many of them and only two of us. So, I suppose I'll have to pick them off one at a time. I pulled out my pistol and aimed steadily -- and the first one bits the dust, right through the skull. He falls to ground like a sack of potatoes that weigh more than a ton, regretfully, pulling all murderous eyes on me.

"Shit," I murmered. As quick as I could, I tugged myself against the wall, cold metal pressed against my back, the water that seeped through the two hundred year cracks in the ceiling dampened my suit in the process. A loud crackle bounced off every surface, ending in one of the lanterns closest to me shaddered in its quack, and the lumines flame within licked at the floor before shrinking back into a petty flicker, soon dying to the musty water that dominated it. 

"Step out now, and we won't hurt ya. We'll talk this out," one of the men said. Heavy feet powned against the floor, making their way closer, a sudle click of a firearm.

I snorted. "Yeah, let's settle this over a tea party. I brought the sandwitch squares by the way." 

I scooted Dogmeat closer to the wall. My eyes scanned over the crates, I needed something, a melee weapon. My foot nocked over a iron dust pan. I smiled in truphinet and snatched it up.

Suddenly, a man steps in the door way, sights already on me. I brought the dust pan down on him, hitting him square in the mouth with the rusty edge. I smacked him over the head again, nocking him down to the ground. Dogmeat lunges at him, ending his torment quickly. I picked up his machine gun and started to take out the rest, making sure to stay in cover until every last one of them were down. I did this until I was in a remarkably large room, an atrium of the vault. 

There is a time in our lives where, in spit of everything else, we shudder away from a sickening reality until we are forced to overcome a path not most wants to venture. Such as of right now. This form of world being the most cruipt to ever be witnessed. Murder, kidnapping, stealing... all common activities commited by every one in the twenty-second century, at least, once in their live time. If you asked me when, let's say, five year old me, would I ever harm another living soul? The answers easy: no, absolutely not. But, let's be honest. Since when have humans ever foreseen the future? This was beyond me -- beyond anyone. And here I am, about to kill another man, after I just admitted I would never. 

I stood right in the door way, facing my unknowing victim whom was too busy consoltuting with the person in the next room to even recognize my being. They seemed to be deep in argument -- the only thing I picked in they're quell was the mention of Nick Valentine the second I walked into the atrium. 

""Lousy cheating card shark" I think were his exact words. Then he struck the name across three times," the stranger warned, his tone erritated. 

The man stepped back from the window in shock. "Three strikes? In the black book? But I never... Oh no... I gotta smooth this over! fast!" He frigded with his worn fedora, his hands shook slightly as he turned. He quickly halted in his tracks when the tip of my pistol met the back of his skull.

I cocked the safety off. "Now listen to my words, unless you want to die. I'm looking for the detective. Do you know where I can find him?" I whispered, my voice wavered from the attempt. 

To say the least, I didn't want anymore of these blockheads up my ass. Perhaps the one and only detective was in the next room -- but, it's better to be safe then sorry. And, not to mention, I'm in a severe, if not fatal situation. 

The man stopped his fidgeting and stood erected. The words that slipped from his mouth were challenging. "Shit, and why should I tell ya?" 

"Oh, I don't know. Maybe because I'll kill you if you don't. I'm loosing my patience here."

"He's in that room, locked up tighter than you can imagine. Good luck tryna crack that terminal over there. You'll need the password if you want to open that door."

I groaned. "I don't have time for this." 

The man opened his mouth to say something before I committed the act I thought I'd never do; and he drops to the ground like a fly, blood seeped from his fresh wound, a fatal shot to the cranium. I grimaced down at the corpse. 

Squinting my eyes, I peered in the window, only to see a faint glow of lighting and nothing else. "Nick Valantine? You in there?" I asked. The pistol ready to be used.

The same gravely voice from before answered in eargency. "Yes, it's me. I don't know who you are, but we got three minutes before they realize muscles-for-brains ain't coming back. Get this door open."

"Already on it." I pulled a paper slip from the mans corpse. 

Overseer, I read. This most be the password - and you'd think they could come up with something a little more soficicating. 

The vault's door slid open to reveal two obornally amber eyes. Where his eyes are meant to be white, they are an inky-pool of black, his irises are a intense gold, vivid and shining, spit into two. His amber eyes licked at the room like an eternal flame, illumining his figure to reveal a weathered face, one of a man's, and a worn fadora sat upon his hairless head. His ill-grey flesh tone had more cracks and scars than what I could count. And his neck -- ripped open for the world to see, with wires, metal and compodents. He was not human -- he was a robot, a synthetic man of some sort. A trench coat clung loosely to his frame -- the classic attire. Something tells me this is most defiantly the detective everyone's been talking about.

Let's just say, Ellie and Hancock were right. It's not like I could miss this guy even if I tried. 

The man stepped into view, the dark inkness still ingolfing his figure in a comforting way, burn could make out his being better. His abnormal eyes trained on me. "Gotta love the irony of the reverse damsel-in-distress scenario."


End file.
